<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Haircut by Zynaza</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019414">Haircut</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zynaza/pseuds/Zynaza'>Zynaza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half-Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>short fic, trans headcanon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:41:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zynaza/pseuds/Zynaza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Magnusson has some thoughts while preparing for the day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Haircut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love this greasy old man with all my heart<br/>I originally wanted to write him just being a brat of a university student but my hand kinda slipped, so take this instead<br/>I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The young woman had her hands behind her head as she stared into the mirror in front of her, looking at her blank yet slightly stubborn expression, tying her hair into a ponytail, for practical purposes, obviously. The length of her hair wasn’t anything crazy, perhaps even shorter than average, but still socially accepted in the environment she spent most of her time, yet keeping it tied up kept away the frustrations that came with it being in her way and bothering her all the time, along with doing it out of safety. And another thing, it nagged at her as she looked at the finished product, all her hair out of her face, tightly bound with a hair tie, yet she couldn’t place it, or figure out what it was.<br/>
<br/>
She blinked and stepped away. It didn’t matter, she had more important business to spend her time on, like telling Dr Stevens that his ideas on the latest subject he taught them was, flatout, ridiculous. She knew better than to trust everything at face value, always taking a second, longer look, or diving deeper into the matter, wanting to know how it worked, how it’s put together. She knew she was right because she did all she could to find the truth. And, the truth was, she kept having weird thoughts and feelings that impeded her ability to work and study, so she tried to stuff them away, paying them no mind, until...<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
The young- man, yes, the young man stared almost in disbelief and wonder at his reflection, having to really take in what he was seeing. His hair, usually coming down to just a bit below the shoulders, mostly higher if it was tied up, was now cut, by himself out of all people, he didn’t want to go to a barber despite knowing he could’ve demanded for someone to give him what he wanted, to a length he never even dared to want, but oh, how he had longed for it. It was a strange sight, almost alien, it nearly made him look like a stranger, yet he knew, rationally, that it was really him. This is what he looked like now. Some sort of strong feeling was rushing through his entire body, nervousness, excitement, happiness, he didn’t know what to make of it, but that didn’t matter.<br/>
<br/>
He tried to do the best job he could, wanting to cut it neat, and formal, yet instead of doing whatever haircutters would have done, the student had grabbed his hair in one hand, and cut it closely to what he thought was his desired length, doing a few revisions after that, checking if it looked okay in the mirror, that weird mix of excitement and nervousness already starting to form in his stomach as he did that. After spending a few moments of running a hand through his freshly cut hair and looking at himself at his reflection, he started combing it back using his fingers, before realizing what he was doing, and grabbing the comb that he owned to make his hair go where he wanted it to. There, done.<br/>
<br/>
There he was... Arne Magnusson.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>